


here, bullet

by amosanguis



Series: author's fave [84]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Military, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming Out, Domestic Fluff, Graphic Description, M/M, News Media, Nightmares, OTP: Beau Bennett and Near Death Experiences, OTP: a captain and his sunshine, PTSD Angst, Pittsburgh Penguins, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slurs, Social Media, Veteran Beau Bennett, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 14:19:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4438751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amosanguis/pseuds/amosanguis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ex-Navy corpsman Beau Bennett is just trying to figure out how to cope after being wounded in Iraq – and a charity hockey game with the Pittsburgh Penguins may be just what the doctor ordered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meetings and Shootings

**Author's Note:**

> Title from “Here, Bullet” by Brian Turner
> 
> Terminology note: “Condition one” is a reference to the 4 Condition Codes of a small arms weapon (handguns, rifles, & shotguns). Condition 1 is when there is a round (a bullet) in the chamber, the magazine is in, and the safety is on.

-z-

 

Beau knows a lot.

He knows how to hit a slap shot and he knows that a pinch of garlic salt and some pepper is the only seasoning chicken needs when it’s grilled over mesquite-flavored charcoal.  He knows to call his mama every three days to let her know that he’s doing well and that he hasn’t killed himself (it’s not a fear she’s ever voiced – but she saw him when he first came home; things—things, hadn’t been pretty).

 

-x-

 

“Why in the hell are you not playing pro?” Sidney asks, breathing hard as he glares at Flower – as if it was Flower’s fault that Beau’s shot went in.

Beau’s breath hitches – just the way it always does when he thinks about What Could Have Been.  “I went to war instead,” he says, forcing a smile as he taps on the patch on his charity game jersey – the caduceus signifying his rate (his job) as a corpsman in the Navy; then he holds up his forearm, adds, “Besides, I wouldn’t make a full NHL game with this thing.”

“I doubt it,” Sidney says; and the way he looks at Beau when he says it, the way he looks deep into Beau with his voice ringing with _absolute_ sincerity, Beau almost believes him.

 

-

 

They go from fan-athlete acquaintances to texting-almost-every-night good friends.  Sidney asks Beau about his favorite foods ( _Chicken_ , Beau texts back automatically, _I’ll grill for you sometime and you’ll see what I mean_ ) and what books he’s been reading ( _I just started ‘Moby Dick’ – so I’ll let you know how that goes_ ).

Beau asks Sidney if Malkin knows more English than he lets on ( _Of course he does_ , Sidney texts, adding in the “:P” emoji) and if Sid’s as creeped out by Pierre as the rest of the hockey world ( _No comment_ ).

 

-x-

 

Beau knows a lot.

He knows what a bullet feels like when it ricochets off bone and he knows that veterans have head-of-the-line privileges on the suicide hotline.  He knows that if he wants to _sleep_ – he should drink wine; he knows that whiskey and tequila do nothing but keep him awake while memories sneak up on him with the dark and quiet of nighttime.  (The sound of bullets and the need to _move, move – patrol, keep the perimeter safe and clear.  Check your weapon, boy – condition one at all times, son – before you go in to see to the wounded._ )

 

-x-

 

 _Do you want to come to a game?_ Sidney texts Beau one morning.

Beau stares at the text for five minutes.  Beau had been waiting for Sidney’s interest in him to fade, to slowly fizzle out as the newness of Beau wears away.  He hadn’t expected Sidney to want to see him again.

 ** _I can’t_** , Beau texts back.

**_I can’t do big crowds :/_ **

_Like I’d let you sit in the crowd_ , Sidney replies.

**_???_ **

_;)_

-

 

Beau tries not to stare as he shakes Mario Lemieux’s hand.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Mario says, chuckling, his eyes glinting as if he knew a secret.  “Sidney’s said a lot about you.”

“It’s a pleasure, sir,” Beau says, trying not to think about what _exactly_ Sidney might have been saying about him.

“The honor is all mine, Beau,” Mario says, a flash of seriousness in his eyes, “You’ve done a lot for this country,” he waves his hand around him, “make yourself comfortable.  Can I get you something to drink?”

Beau glances over to the minibar and says, “A Budweiser would be nice, sir.”

 

-

 

Beau is surprised how easy it is for him to joke with Mario, the laughs coming easily as Mario tells him stories from when Sidney lived with him – and he’s just waiting for the claustrophobia to settle in, for his muscles to begin twitching and the echo of distant gunfire – but it never comes.  Mario’s voice soothing and distracting.

Then the Penguins are storming the ice, Sidney’s _87_ easy to pick out, and Beau is transfixed.

Hockey is familiar, soothing.  Even in his darkest moments of recovery, Beau could calm himself by closing his eyes and thinking about hockey, about the way he could balance the puck on the blade of his stick, about stealing the puck from the defensemen and putting it into the back of the net.

Now, watching as Sidney skates – his legs filled with indomitable power and unmatchable speed – Beau feels that same calm filling him.

It’s the moment Beau feels himself falling in love with Sidney.

 

-x-

 

Beau knows a lot.

He knows that the screaming he hears isn’t always real and that his hands aren’t always really covered in the blood of the men and women he couldn’t save.  He knows that the searing pain in his arm is mostly memory and that his wounds are long healed.  He knows that he’s fine, that he’s safe – that he’s not in the desert with the sun burning hot on the back of his neck and the sand sitting gritty in his teeth.

But even though he knows all of these things, he sometimes still finds himself sweating in the corner of his bedroom, pressing his back tightly against the wall just to feel something solid and real – closing his eyes and praying it’s not blown out from behind him.

 

-x-

 

“I bet you would have gone in the first round,” Sidney says, leaning against his stick.

Beau snorts as he puts his stick on his knees and takes deep breaths – he’s kept his body as much in shape as he’s able, but skating uses his muscles in ways a treadmill can’t quite do.  CONSOL around them is empty but for a few of the beat reporters who had caught wind of Sidney sneaking out onto the ice.

“Well,” Sidney laughs, eyeing Beau in exaggerated judgement, “maybe.”

The words startle a laugh out of Beau even as he looks up to glare at Sid, saying, “I don’t think it’s fair to expect me to keep up with you.”

“I would never judge you unfairly,” Sidney says, sounding hurt.

“I know,” Beau says immediately, putting as much _sureness_ in his voice as he can (it’s a tactic he’s used telling a patient that they were going to live, that he was going to get them out of this hell and back home), shouldering Sidney into the boards and batting the puck away out from between Sidney’s skates.

Sidney quickly darts out in front of Beau, skating backwards – then he’s putting on the brakes and taking the puck back, turning quickly and slapping it into the net.

Beau throws his head back and groans at the rafters.  “Look, I already know you’re pretty great,” he says, “you don’t have to keep showing off.”

Sidney smirks, then he’s leaning in just the slightest as he says, “You think I’m great?”

Beau feels heat rising in his face and covers it by turning towards the net to retrieve the puck.  Then he feels a hand on his arm and Sidney’s tugging him back.

“Hey,” he starts, nervous in a way Beau’s never heard him before, “do you want to have dinner?”

Beau freezes, and he knows that he’s staring – but he’s not quite sure he heard Sidney right.

“If I misread things, I’m sorry,” Sidney says, backtracking quickly and letting go of Beau’s arm.

“No, no-no-no” Beau says, waving his hands in a _slow-down_ gesture, “I wasn’t sure—.  Do you mean, like, _dinner_ dinner?  Or just dinner?”

Sidney huffs a laugh, says, “ _Dinner_ dinner.”

“Then, hell yes,” Beau says, grinning widely.  Beau ignores the voice in his head screaming at him to not let Sidney get too close.

 

-

 

 **Josh Yohe (@JoshYohe_PGH)** _Sid stayed after practice to play a game of keep away with a mystery man. Details to come._

> **Seth Rorabaugh (@emptynetters)** _@JoshYohe_PGH They stare at each other a lot. Sid’s obviously taking it way easy on the guy._
> 
> **Pens Inside Scoop (@PensInsideScoop)** _@JoshYohe_PGH @emptynetters We know who #SidneysMysteryMan is. *dancing man emoji*_
> 
> **Josh Yohe (@JoshYohe_PGH)** _@emptynetters_ @ _PensInsideScoop who?_
> 
> **Pens Inside Scoop (@PensInsideScoop)** _@JoshYohe_PGH @emptynetters Oh, we’re not telling :P_

 

-

 

 ** _They’re arguing about me on twitter_** , Beau texts Sidney.

 _Why?_ Sidney answers.

**_They want to know who I am._ **

_Shit, I’m sorry._

_Want me to tell them to back off?_

**_Nah, let’s see what happens._ **

 

-x-

 

Beau knows a lot.

He knows that his therapist is really trying to help him.  He knows that his parents want him to move back out to California, they want him in the sun and in the ocean.  But Beau also knows he doesn’t have the heart to tell them that he picked Pittsburgh because of the cold, because more often than not he can count on clouds and sky scrapers to hide the heat of sun from him.

He wonders what his friends back home would think about that – a California boy sometimes too afraid to go out into the sun.

 

-x-

 

_Shoulda told him, shoulda told him, shoulda told him._

Beau keeps running.  He pretends he doesn’t hear Sid shouting after him or the wail of sirens getting closer.

_Shoulda told him, goddamnit, shit, fucking-fuck – I always gotta fuck shit up._

There’s blood on his knuckles and blood in his eye and his arm is on goddamned fire.

 _If that guy dies_ —Beau shuts the thought down immediately.  Then he keeps running.

 

-

 

 **Rob Rossi (@RobRossi_Trib)** _We’re getting reports that Sidney Crosby was involved in an incident and is talking to Pittsburgh police._

 **Josh Yohe (@JoshYohe_PGH)** _Scary news involving Sid. That “friend” of his just beat the hell out of a group of guys - just for talking to Sid - before he ran away_.

 **Josh Yohe (@JoshYohe_PGH)** _Make sure you follow @RobRossi_Trib for all the details as they’re made available._

 **Josh Yohe (@JoshYohe_PGH)** _They just found out who the guy is. Hey, @Sunshine19._

 **Rob Rossi (@RobRossi_Trib)** _Crosby is not getting arrested, but he will have to go in to provide a witness statement. Will this effect tomorrow night’s game?_

 **Rob Rossi (@RobRossi_Trib)** _RT @JoshYohe_PGH They just found who the guy is. Hey, @Sunshine19._

 

-

 

Beau turns his phone off after the one hundredth hateful tweet and the twentieth new follower.

 

-

 

“I can’t comment on what happened that night since it’s an on-going investigation,” Sidney says to a reporter before he looks straight into the camera, adds, “but I’m not mad at him.” 

Beau’s hand hovers over the power button of his remote as he reaches for his keys.   He was leaving his apartment to turn himself in before the cops show up to _get_ him.

Then Sidney looks over to his right, glaring hard, at the owner of a new microphone being shoved into his face.  “What _you_ did was unacceptable.  Rest assured no Penguin will [bleep]-ing talk to you again as long as I’m captain – so get the [bleep] out of this room.”

“Sid—” the camera pans over, showing Josh Yohe, his face pale then panicked as Sidney surges to his feet, hands clenched into fists.

“Get _out_ ,” Sidney bellows.

Beau’s finger slams down on the power button before he drops the remote and he runs out of his apartment.

 

-

 

“Before we start,” the cop – Detective Brady – says, sitting down across from Beau in the interrogation room, “I wanted to thank you for turning yourself in.”

Beau nods mutely, running his thumb down the side of the cup of coffee the detective had brought him.

“Have you seen the interview Crosby gave this afternoon?”

“Yeah,” Beau says, nodding as he glances up.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him lose his cool like that,” Detective Brady says, shrugging, “well, at least at a reporter.”

Beau nods – he didn’t know what he was supposed to say.

“So what happened that night?  You’re not a small guy, sure – but how did you manage to beat the shit out of five men?”

Beau takes a deep breath and folds his hands on the table (his knuckles are scabbed over but, for an instant, Beau thinks he sees his whole hands covered in dried blood) and leans forward.

“We were eating dinner,” Beau says, “and the guy recognized Sid and asked for an autograph and a picture.”

Beau tells Detective Brady how the guy left and came back with the rest of his buddies – asking for more autographs and more pictures, even putting a pile of napkins in front of Sid.  Sidney tried to decline – he knew these guys were just going to turn around and sell the napkins – but the men were persistent.

“Then,” Beau hesitates, feeling a cold ache inside his chest – an echo of old fears – before he swallows it down and rubs at his forehead.  “Then they started calling us faggots which didn’t really faze Sid; he just shrugged and said, ‘I’ve heard worse from better’ and that’s when management showed up.  They kicked them all out.  But—”

“They were waiting for you outside,” Detective Brady finishes when Beau stops again.

Beau nods, says, “I told them to back off because I’ve had combat training and experience.  I told them that I have PTSD, so I may not be able to stop myself.”

“And where was Sidney?” the detective asks, his voice quiet.

“The bathroom,” Beau answers, watching as the man glances at his notes and nods.

“Keep going.”

“The big guy threw a punch and, the next thing I know, they’re all on the ground and,” Beau holds his hands up, showing his scabbed knuckles, “my hands are torn up.  I looked up and I saw Sidney and—I don’t know.  He looked horrified.  I couldn’t take it – so I ran.  I know I shouldn’t have, but I panicked.”

A quiet moment passes as Detective Brady watches Beau.  “They were going to press charges,” he says, “but I think Crosby threatened them with a lengthy legal battle if they tried anything.”

“So what does that mean for me?” Beau asks.

“Considering the situation – you’re free to go,” Detective Brady says as he stands, “on the condition that you talk to Sidney – that boy was pretty broken up when you ran off.  And if you break his heart, son, you’ll have all of Pittsburgh to answer to.”

“Break his—” Beau’s head snaps up.  “I don’t—”

Detective Brady waves him off and leaves the room.

 

-

 

Beau comes home to find a trio of very angry French Canadians in his hallway.  “Oh, shit,” he says.

“You got that right,” Pascal Dupuis says; his arms are crossed against his chest and he’s flanked by Marc-Andre Fleury and Kris Letang.

“How do you even know where I live?” Beau asks.

Kris snorts, says, “We have a lot of money.”

“If you’re here to beat me up,” Beau says, slowly making his way past them and towards his apartment door, “you probably shouldn’t.”

“We’re not leaving until you call Sid,” Marc says, “he thinks this is all his fault.”

“Of course he does,” Beau says sadly, rubbing at his face as he swings his door open (if he hadn’t been distracted, he would have remember that he locked the door). 

The first thing Beau sees when he takes his hand away is the barrel end of a 9mm; behind that is a guy with an eye swelled shut – one of the men Beau had beaten up.

There’s a shot, but Beau’s already reacting – he throws his keys at the shooter’s face and yells for Pascal, Marc, and Kris to, “Get low and get gone!”  Then Beau’s running forward – there are two more shots and Beau’s falling forward, but he’s already reached the shooter and they go down together.

It’s easy to twist the gun out of the guy’s hands, easier to turn it around and press it to the underside of the guy’s chin.  Beau hears himself yelling, cursing, but he’s not sure what he’s saying – his mouth is moving and so is his finger.

It moves off the trigger.

“If you fucking move,” Beau snarls once the man beneath him has stopped moving, “I will absolutely fucking shoot you.”

Distantly, Beau knows that he’s been shot.

“Beau?” Kris’s voice is soft, barely above a whisper.  “Beau – we’ll take it from here.”

Beau doesn’t move, says only, “I thought I told you guys to _get- **fucking** -gone_.”

“The cops are on their way,” Pascal cuts in, “and I may not be a doctor, but I’m pretty sure we need to put some pressure on your wounds.”

 _Wounds_ , Beau thinks.  _Plural.  Of course it’s plural._   He’s slowly able to loosen his grip on the gun and pass it to Kris; the shooter stays still under Beau even after Beau slides off of him.

Marc and Pascal gather around Beau – pressing towels to the wounds Beau doesn’t even look at.

“I should’ve stayed in Iraq,” Beau says, letting his body slump all the way to the floor.  His breathing was labored, he was cold, and he was lightheaded – he didn’t need his medical training to know these weren’t the best signs.  “At least there I only got shot the one time.”

“Keep him talking,” Kris says (Beau thinks it was Kris).

“Just once?” Pascal asks Beau, slapping at Beau’s face when Beau’s eyelids began to droop.

“It was nice, though,” Beau says drowsily.  “The house where the triage was set up was hit by two RPGs – the eight-year-old who lived next door found me trying to crawl out of the rubble.  He shot me to, as he put it, ‘put me out of my misery’.  I thought that was very nice of him.”

Beau doesn’t notice the stunned silence around him, or how his words are beginning to slur into each other.

“Well,” Beau continues, blinking as he stares at his ceiling light – if he tries, the light looks like the sun had on that day, bright as it washed out the colors around them.  “It woulda been sweet if he knew how to aim – he shot my arm.  The bullet kinda bounced around inside.”

Marc (maybe Pascal) disappears from Beau’s eyesight – replaced with a woman in an EMT uniform.

“Thank fuck for the cavalry,” Beau mutters, letting his eyes slip definitively closed.

“Sir, no—”

 

-x-

 

Beau had always believed a bullet would be the way he would die.  Either a bullet from an enemy’s rifle or a bullet from his own handgun.  It was just one of those things he had known.

But it wouldn’t happen today.

 

-x-

 

Beau wakes up to his mother, asleep and holding his hand, and his father pacing at the foot of the bed.

Beau’s dad catches his eye and his face clouds over.  “Jeez, Beau, every time we turn around – you’re near death.  Why do you like doing this to us?”

Beau sighs, turning away from his father to sip at the water on his tray.  His mom, feeling him move, jerks awake – instantly she cries, “Beau!” and begins crying.  “Oh, my boy,” she says, clutching at his arm, “the doctor says that you’ll make a full recovery.”

“Yeah,” his father huffs, throwing himself down into an armchair, “just so he can get shot again.”

“That’s enough, Bill,” his mother, Francis, hisses.  She turns back to Beau – she looks so much older than he remembers, as if this is the final storm she has the strength to weather – and forces a smile.  “They arrested the man who shot you and those lovely hockey player friends of yours have been in here every day.  The really cute one, Sidney, is a sweet boy.  He’s ignored your father really well.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, mom,” Beau says, smiling fondly.  “Where was I shot this time?”

“You were shot once in the shoulder, sweetie,” his mom says, smoothing the blankets down, “and again in the abdomen.  Luckily, the bullets missed all your vitals.”

“That’s great,” Beau says, ignoring his father’s snort of derision.

 

-

 

“What I think is beautiful,” Kris-call-me-Tanger-dude says, “is how quickly Pittsburgh’s opinion of you has changed.  First, you leave poor Sid to deal with police after your little mental breakdown—”

“That’s not—”

“—and everyone hates you.  Then, when you get shot in your own apartment, you still somehow manage to save me, Duper, and Flower, and suddenly everyone loves you.”

“I’m pretty sure you guys saved my life – what with the bleeding out and all,” Beau says, but Tanger just talks over him.

“Have you seen how Twitter has blown up?  No one can shut up about you.”

“Not even you, apparently,” Sidney cuts in, leaning in the doorway.  His words had been directed at Tanger, but his eyes are on Beau.  There are dark circles under Sidney’s eyes, a heavy slump to his shoulders.

“Hey,” Beau says, his voice soft, his chest constricting as he just takes Sidney in.

“I was going to be here sooner,” Sidney says, taking a cautious step into the room, as if he wasn’t quite sure he was welcome, “but, uh, the hospital’s doors are kinda blocked.  By reporters.”

“What?” Beau’s eyebrows fly up.

“Congratulations, Beau,” Tanger grins, “you’re Pittsburgh’s new darling.”

“Tanger,” Sidney says, “can you give us a couple of minutes?”

Tanger rolls his eyes but stands up, he’s walking out of the door just as Beau’s parents are walking back in – fresh from the vending machine just down the hall – and he easily distracts them and gets them out of the room.

“If you don’t want to continue this,” Beau says, “I’d understand.  You don’t exactly need my crazy.”

“You’re a little dangerous, yeah,” Sidney says, shrugging with one shoulder as he settles in the chair Tanger had just left, “but I still really like you, Beau.  I think we’d be good for each other.”

Beau huffs a laugh – it was probably a bad idea, Beau _knows_ it’s a bad idea.

But, looking at Sidney and the hope in his eyes, Beau ignores what he knows – and leans in to press a soft-sweet kiss to Sid’s lips.

 

-z-

 

End.


	2. Going Public

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sidney and Beau - so domestic, so happy. But there's still the question of whether or not they should make their relationship public.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \--This chapter is Sidney’s POV.  
> \--In case you can’t tell, I really don’t like Josh Yohe. Or Rob Rossi. Minor warning for some religious conflict and for the Ego accounts.  
> \-- _O-guf! Tera armeek._ = “Stop! Or I’ll shoot.” I got this translation from the poem “What Every Soldier Should Know” by Brian Turner.

-z-

 

“Do you ever get frustrated that we can barely touch each other in public?” Sidney asks, his voice hardly more than a whisper as he popped a curly fry into his mouth.

“Sometimes,” Beau says, shrugging a shoulder, “it’d be nice to hold your hand or kiss you when you’re being particularly adorable.  But,” Beau holds Sidney’s eyes for a moment, “I’m happy now.  Happier than I can remember being in a long time.”

“Me, too,” Sidney says, smiling fondly.  And the way Beau just smiles at him – happy and carefree – Sidney feels his heart threatening to burst.

 

-

 

Beau has good days and bad days and Sidney has learned how to tell which one today will be by how Beau wakes up.

On good days – Beau sleeps more than five hours straight, waking up gradually. 

On bad days – Beau wakes up sweating or screaming; usually both.  Sometimes he wakes up with his hand wrapped around Sidney’s throat, screaming “ _O-guf! Tera armeek!_ ”

(The first time that had happened, Beau had locked himself in one of the guest bedrooms and refused to speak to Sidney for two days.  On the third day Sidney had shouted that Beau was being unreasonable, Beau had shouted back that Sidney was an idiot for letting a walking wounded sleep beside him – it was their first argument and they hadn’t even had it face-to-face, had just yelled at each other through the door. 

The third night, Beau walked downstairs to find Sidney glaring at the television.  He jumped when he heard Beau say, “I’m sorry.”  Then Sidney was on his feet and had his arms around Beau – refusing to let go for the rest of the night.)

 

-

 

“Not that lounging around your mansion isn’t fantastic,” Beau says, turning the chicken on the grill, “but I’m bored.  Like, Sidney, I’m really bored.”

“I know you’re bored,” Sidney says, “I heard you get out of bed to take the toaster apart.  Now there are extra bits just lying on the counter.”

Beau waves a hand nonchalantly, “I know how to put people back together, not toasters.  Especially not your super fancy toaster.”

Sidney wants to ask _Then what was the point?_   Instead he shakes his head and makes a mental note to get a new toaster.  Maybe extras.

“Is that chicken done yet?” Sidney asks, watching as the flames shot up to lick at the sizzling meat.

“Almost,” Beau says.

 

-

 

“So,” Sidney asks, settling further into his couch, happily full, “if you’re so bored – what do you want to do?”

“I want to help people,” Beau says, letting his head loll to the side so he could look at Sidney, “I’m thinking about volunteering down at a free clinic or something?  Nothing too high stress – it’d mostly be just giving booster shots and check-ups.”

Sidney smiles and pulls Beau down on top of him, “I think that’s a great idea, Beau.”

“You know what else is a great idea?”

Sidney doesn’t have time to ask as Beau grinds his hips down.

 

-x-

 

 **Pens Inside Scoop (@PensInsideScoop)** It’s been a year since Sid struck up an unlikely friendship with war hero @Sunshine19. Sidney sat down with SK to discuss!

 **Pens Inside Scoop (@PensInsideScoop)** “It’s been humbling, for sure. He’s selfless in everything he does.” –Sid, on Beau starting work at a free clinic.

 **Pens Inside Scoop (@PensInsideScoop)** “When they’re around each other, they make the other better, it’s hard to describe.” –Tanger, on Beau and Sid.

 

-

 

 _Excerpt from Sidney Crosby’s interview for_ Sid’s New Housemate _by Sam Kasan_ :

**Sidney, is it true you invited Beau Bennett to live with you?**

Yeah, after he was okay’d to be discharged from the hospital, there was an argument between myself and Tanger, Duper, and Flower about who would get to house him until he was a hundred percent back on his feet.  I had to use the captain card to win that one.  We get along really well and it’s not like I don’t have the space.

**Do you two ever argue?**

We can both be pretty stubborn, but we’re pretty good at reading each other’s moods and knowing when to walk away for a breather.  I think we’ve only raised our voices at each other once or twice.

**What was that about?**

I’m not gonna discuss that.

**Does he have an opinion on the use of war metaphors in hockey?**

* _laughs_ * He understands it – he played hockey up until he joined the Navy.  But he still needles me sometimes, asking for a battle reports after games.

**That’s hilarious!  How has he been getting along with the rest of the team?**

Oh, everyone loves him.  He’s so easy to get along with.  He’s awesome with the grill, too, so the guys all become suspiciously chatty and suddenly want to come over when they know we have chicken in the house.

Just having him around, it’s been humbling, for sure.  This isn’t a team that’s ever had an ego, but when we’re around Beau, who’s already given up so much for his country, and we see him working [at the free clinic] and it makes the rest of us think about what more we could be doing.  He’s so selfless in everything he does.  It’s inspiring.

 

-

 

 **Josh Yohe (@JoshYohe_PGH)** _“He’s so selfless in everything he does.” I wonder if that’s before or after he beats people to a pulp._

> **Wes Crosby (@OtherNHLCrosby)** _@JoshYohe_PGH Dude_.
> 
> **Shelly Anderson (@_ShellyAnderson)** _@JoshYohe_PGH I think we all know that was a very different situation. #shameonyou_
> 
> **PensInitiative (@PensInitiative)** _@JoshYohe_PGH Wow, bitter much?_

**Dave Molinari (@MolinariPG)** _Ignoring @JoshYohe_PGH for a moment, when was the last time Sid gushed this much over someone who didn’t play hockey?_

**Rob Rossi (@RobRossi_Trib)** _Is more going on here than Crosby is saying? Has Bennett’s presence effected 87’s hockey? A look at the numbers in my next article._

> **PensInitiative (@PensInitiative)** _@RobRossi_Trib yeah, they’ve gotten better._

 

 **PensInitiative (@PensInitiative)** _We’re comparing Crosby’s corsi pre-Beau & post-Beau. Final touches are being put on the article; it’ll be up w/in the hour._

 

-x-

 

It was Saturday and Beau had started coming to practices whenever he could, telling Sidney that it made up for the time they spent away from each other when the team went on road trips or when Beau was working.

“I think the press is starting to get savvy,” Beau says from the passenger seat, his eyebrows furrowed as his thumb swiped over his phone’s screen.

“I thought you gave up on twitter?” Sidney asks, glancing over.

“Unfortunately it’s the best way to keep track of what the hockey media is doing,” he answers, sighing as he drops his phone into a cup holder.  “Everyone is analyzing that article about us.  Some are saying we’re gay, some are saying we’re just really good friends.  My favorite is the Dead Spin article about how I’m a gold digger.  That was some A+ journalism.”

“Never read your own press,” Sidney says, “that shit will stay in your head and eat away at you.  And honestly, you’re the last person who needs that.”

Beau smiles and Sidney can’t help but smile back – it stays on his face the rest of the way to the arena.

(When they get there, Flower has the song _Gold Digger_ playing on repeat in the locker room.)

 

-

 

“Do _you_ ever get frustrated about our lack of PDA?” Beau asks Sidney one night when the house is calm around them and Sidney’s eyes are closed, his head resting in Beau’s lap.

After a beat, Sidney opens his eyes and says, “Yeah.  More than I thought I would be.”

 

-x-

 

_Transcript of Kris Letang’s post-practice interview._

**News Station Reporter #1** : How do you think this game against the Kings will go tomorrow?

 **Letang** : They’re a great team with a lot of fast guys; they’ll definitely keep us on our toes.

 **Reporter #2** : What do you think about all the press Beau Bennett has been receiving? Is it distracting from the team’s hockey?

 **Letang** : You guys are the ones who keep bringing him up.

 **Reporter #1** : Is it true he’s in a relationship with Sidney Crosby?

 **Letang** : I’m not discussing this anymore.  Does anyone have any questions related to hockey?  No?  Then get out of my face.

 

-x-

 

It had taken awhile for Mario to come around to the idea of Sidney and Beau dating; his faith warring with his parental love for Sidney.  But after two long, difficult weeks, Mario had shown up at Sidney’s door and wrapped him in a tight hug.  “I want you to be happy,” he had said; then he’d talked about what they would do if/when Sidney decided to come out.

 

-

 

It’s their third year anniversary when Sidney slides down to one knee.

“Will you marry me, Beau?” he asks.

Beau’s mouth hangs open, he’s not wearing a shirt, exposing his many scarred-over war wounds, and he’s still in sweats and his hair is still messed up from sleep – and to Sidney, he’s never looked so beautiful.

“But what about—?”

“If I have you by side,” Sidney says, “I think I can weather anything.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Beau whispers, pulling Sidney up by his shirt and covering his face with kisses, “fuck, _yes, yes, yes_.”

 

-

 

They wait until after the NHL awards before having the wedding ceremony; it’s small and the Penguins organization breaks the news to the hockey world by releasing one photo: Sidney and Beau’s kiss at the altar.

 

-

 

 **Pittsburgh Penguins (@penguins)** _Congratulations to our captain and his new husband! May you have many long years together! #someonepassthetissues_

> **NHL Blue Jackets (@BlueJacketsNHL)** _@penguins Why weren’t we invited?! #congratstothegroomandgroom_
> 
> **Pittsburgh Penguins (@penguins)** _@bluejackets Sorry, family only._
> 
> **NHL Blue Jackets (@BlueJacketsNHL)**   _@penguins I thought we WERE family!_
> 
> **Pittsburgh Penguins (@penguins)** _@bluejackets I’ll save you a seat at the reception._

 

 **Philadelphia Flyers (@NHLFlyers)** _We would like to offer our sincerest congratulations to Sidney Crosby and @Sunshine19._  

> **NHL Blue Jackets (@BlueJacketsNHL)** _@NHLFlyers Does this mean you and @penguins are friends now? #olivebranch #cantwealljustgetalong_
> 
> **Philadelphia Flyers (@NHLFlyers)** _@bluejackets @penguins No. #maybe_
> 
> **Pittsburgh Penguins (@penguins)** _@bluejackets @NHLflyers No. #onlyuntiloctober_

**Sidney Crosby’s Ego (@SidneyCrosbyEgo)** _Bet you wish your husband was hot like mine._

> **Evgeni Malkin’s Ego (@EvgeniMalkinEgo)** _@SidneyCrosbyEgo Bro, I didn’t know you liked dick_.
> 
> **Sidney Crosby’s Ego (@SidneyCrosbyEgo _)_** _@EvgeniMalkinEgo Only when it’s attached to a stone cold killer_.

 

 **NHL (@NHL)** _BREAKING: Sidney Crosby, captain of the @penguins, is the first out professional hockey player!_

> **BuzzFeed Sports (@BuzzFeedSports)** _@NHL @penguins oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god_

**The Hockey News (@TheHockeyNews)** _RT @NHL_ _BREAKING: Sidney Crosby, captain of the @penguins, is the first out professional hockey player!_

 

 **The Beau You Know (@Sunshine19)** _I’m the luckiest man in the world. Thank you so much to all of those who have supported us for 3 years!_

 **The Beau You Know (@Sunshine19)** _And a very special thank you to @penguins for letting me steal your captain ;)_

> **Pittsburgh Penguins (@penguins)** _@Sunshine19 that’s just a loan! We need him back before the next season, okay?_
> 
> **Pittsburgh Penguins (@penguins)** _@Sunshine19 ?!_

 

-

 

“Anything fun happening on the internet?” Sidney asks, stretching languidly as the afternoon sunlight filtered in through the open window, the breeze bringing in the sounds of the ocean crashing on the beach.

“Nothing as fun as what’s happening here,” Beau answers, as he puts his left hand on Sidney’s chest.  They both smile at the ring; then Sidney brings his own left hand up to intertwine their fingers.

 

-z-

 

End.


	3. "Walking Wounded"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Living and being in love with a combat veteran isn’t easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \--Alternating POVs, PTSD angst, Frontline does a documentary, a light sprinkling of fluff, and more Twitter action.  
> \--Warning & some commentary at the end.

-z-

 

Beau looks at Sidney, blinks the sand from his eyes, and looks again.

“You okay?” Sidney asks in that way that lets Beau know that he’s been staring off into the middle distance again.  He still feels the sand in his eyes and tries to rub it away discreetly.  (Sidney still notices.)

 

-x-

 

Beau screams – the sun is hot against his skin, almost as hot as the thick blood he’s soaked in, when he’s rushed from behind.

 

-

 

“Beau!”

 

-

 

His patient is dying in the dirt behind him, but there’s a knife in his face and Beau realizes that his attacker is freshly shaven – that this is a fight where one (or, more than likely, _both_ ) of them will die. The sun is blinding and the sand is filling his eyes as he knocks the knife out of the other man’s hand.

He tries to bring his rifle up, but it’s knocked away, too – the sling had been sliced before the knife had been gotten rid of – and then Beau can’t reach his pistol.  He manages to flip them over, so he’s straddling his attacker, and with blood-sticky hands, he grabs the other man by his neck.

 

-

 

“Beau—”

 

-

 

The names of the muscles and tendons of the neck fly through his mind as he squeezes – he thinks about all the ways it’s so easy to disable someone once their windpipe is crushed.

 

-

 

“Beau, _please!_ ”

 

-

 

The sun and sand disappear.

 

-

 

Beau wakes up from his nightmare with his hand wrapped around Sidney’s throat – Sidney’s face a horrible purple-black lit only by the full moon just outside.

“ ** _Fuck_** ,” Beau chokes, scrambling desperately backwards – falling off the bed and ignoring the sharp pain spiking up his arm as he tries to _just get away_.

Sidney’s bent over double, coughing hoarsely between deep and desperate gulps of air.

 

-x-

 

“They want us to do a documentary,” Sidney says, reading the email, “it’s about PTSD in combat veterans and ‘how it effects not only the veteran, but their families, too.’  What do you think?”

Beau looks at Sidney, his eyes flicking down to the ring of bruises as Sidney’s neck.  “Talking about it with you and my therapist is hard enough – I don’t know if I can do it for something that will be seen by the entire world.”

Sidney nods slowly and forces himself to look back at his phone, scrolling back over the email.

“Do you think it would help someone else?” Beau asks quietly.

“I do,” Sidney says after a beat, “just to let others know that they’re not the only ones going through this can be powerful.  Maybe it’ll inspire them to get help if they haven’t already.”

“I’ll think about it,” Beau says after a moment.

 

-

 

“It’s not always easy,” Sidney says, twisting his wedding band around his finger, then he smiles softly and adds, “but I love him.  I just want to do what I can to help him.”

“And how do you do that?” asks the interviewer, Dr. Lana Atman, a young African American woman.

“It depends,” Sidney answers, “there’s no one right answer.  Sometimes, when he’s sitting right next to me, he’s not actually there – sometimes I have to call him back, sometimes I have to just let him work his way through whatever it is he’s remembering.”

Dr. Atman motions for him to keep going.

 

-

 

“I’m not entirely sure where I would be if we hadn’t met,” Beau says, glancing past Dr. Atman and looking at Sidney, who was standing beside the director and one of the producers off-camera, “he’s saved me from myself more times than he’ll ever know,” he turns back at Dr. Atman.  “Even when I’m at my very worst, he loves me anyway and it makes me want to try harder.”

Sidney swallows, his throat tight with the emotion Beau’s words elicit from him as he blinks rapidly, trying to keep tears from falling, and taking a deep breath.

“PTSD – it’s like this evil thing that lives inside of you and eats at you,” Beau says, leaning forward in his chair even as he glances down to the floor, “and there were times when I just wanted to give into it.  Hours of just sitting in one spot because I was so lost inside my own head, days where I just drowned myself in liquor just so I could pass out and not have nightmares.

“The day I got the email from the VA, and I haven’t told Sid about this,” Beau says, jerking his head towards Sidney, “the day I got the email from the VA about the Pens charity game, I almost deleted it.  I was drunk and about a shot away from a blackout.  I don’t know what stopped me,” he shrugs, “I just ignored it.  I found the email again two days later, I was having one of my rare good days, for that time of my life, and I went ahead and signed up.”

“What would you say to other veterans who are going through their own bad days?” Dr. Atman asks.

Beau pauses, then says, “Live for the good days.  Because all it takes is one good day to break up the darkness that seems to just swallow us – because _one_ good day can lead to two, can lead to three.  Don’t be afraid to ask for help,” then he smirks, “or a hug.  A good hug can make a lot of things better.”

Sidney is barely able to restrain himself from walking into the shot and wrapping Beau up in that hug.

 

-

 

“How’re you feeling?” Sidney asks, his ankle hooked around Beau’s as they sat at a diner booth.  After their interviews, Sidney hadn’t been able to stop touching him – Beau didn’t seem to mind, probably needing the contact just as much as Sidney did.

“Fine,” Beau answers, smiling as he snatched a French fry from Sidney’s plate, “a lot better than I thought I would be.”

“Good,” Sidney says, nodding decisively as he bats Beau’s hand away from another fry.

 

-x-

 

 **Pittsburgh Penguins (@penguins)** _Sidney and Beau were interviewed for a new @frontlinepbs documentary highlighting the effects of PTSD on veterans & their loved ones._

 **Pittsburgh Penguins (@penguins)** _“Walking Wounded” will air tomorrow night on your local PBS station at 10/9 c. Don’t forget to set your DVRs if that’s past your bedtime!_

 

-

 

 **Pens Inside Scoop (@PensInsideScoop)** _Since there’s no game tonight, MC and I are going to be livetweeting @frontlinepbs’s newest documentary: “Walking Wounded” -SK_

 **Pens Inside Scoop (@PensInsideScoop)** _Only five minutes in and I’m already crying. -SK_

 **Pens Inside Scoop (@PensInsideScoop)** _Me, too :’( -MC_

 **Pens Inside Scoop (@PensInsideScoop)** _“There are different statistics about how many veterans are committing suicide each day due to PTSD. The most common is the 22-a-day…” (1)_

 **Pens Inside Scoop (@PensInsideScoop)** _(2) “…number, which is often contested. To me, just one a day is one too many,” Dr. Lana Atman. This woman is amazing.  -MC_

 **Pens Inside Scoop (@PensInsideScoop)** _Hey, it’s @Sunshine19! -SK_

 **Pens Inside Scoop (@PensInsideScoop)** _“PTSD [is like] this evil thing that lives inside of you and eats at you.” Beau’s description of what it’s like to live with PTSD. -SK_

 **Pens Inside Scoop (@PensInsideScoop)** _Breaking News: no one at Inside Scoop is ok. -MC_

**Ian Cole (@ICole28)** _I volunteer to hug Beau every single day. I’ll do it, I’ll make that sacrifice._

> **Kris Letang (@Letang_58)** _@ICole28 Not if I get to him first._
> 
> **Evgeni Malkin (@malkin71_)** _@ICole28 @Letang58 Calm down._
> 
> **Kris Letang (@Letang_58)** _@ICole28 @malkin71_ No one asked you, Geno._
> 
> **Mr. Bennett-Crosby (@Sunshine19)** _@ICole28 @Letang_58 @malkin71_ …u guys ok?_

 

 **Mr. Bennett-Crosby (@Sunshine19)** _Doing this isn’t about trying to get my own name out there – it’s about letting others who are going through similar_

> **Mr. Bennett-Crosby (@Sunshine19)** _situations know that they’re not alone and that there’s help out there. They just have to ask for it._

 

-x-

 

“It’s not that the bad nights are any more or less frequent,” Beau says, running his finger through the condensation on his beer, his eyes never leaving the ice as he talks to Mario, “it’s just that they’re easier to bear.  Which,” Beau huffs an unamused laugh, shaking his head and wrapping his hand tighter around his beer, “is something I never thought I’d say.”

“I’m happy for you both,” Mario says.  “I know I took some time coming around, but I really am very happy for you two.”

“I know, Mario,” Beau says, looking away from the game to turn to Mario fully, “we _both_ know.”

“Okay,” Mario says, the word coming out in a rush of breath, sounding more like a _thank you_.  When the buzzer sounds for the end of the period, Mario turns to Beau and asks, “Are you sure we can’t throw you a party or have you drop the puck for a game or something?”

“You do that and I’m never walking into this barn again,” Beau says, he keeps his voice light but he knows that Mario understands that he means exactly what he’s saying. 

Beau had given only one follow up interview regarding the FRONTLINE documentary and it had been to Michelle Crechiolo – quietly refusing to talk to anyone else outside of the Pens organization.  Beau didn’t want the point of the documentary to get pushed to the wayside just because his name was attached to that of the greatest hockey player in the world.

Of course, not all the feedback had been positive – people were still cruel, but Beau had mostly been able to ignore them, and had focused only on the stories of veterans who had told him that he’d inspired them to get help.

 

-x-

 

Sidney had asked Beau once if he planned on going back to California, or if he wanted to see his parents again sometime soon.

Beau had blinked at him once, twice, and then promptly started laughing.

“I haven’t spoken to my dad since the wedding,” Beau says once he’s caught his breath.  “And that entire conversation was about when I planned on getting shot again.”

“You really have been shot a lot,” Sidney says.

“I have the worst luck of anyone I know,” Beau says, nodding to himself.  Then Beau’s smile slips away.  “He’s been mad at me for a long time.  My whole life has been filled with freak accidents and near death experiences – even before the military.  So he thinks that it’s easier to just push me away than to keep watching me nearly die every few years.”

“I’m sorry,” Sidney says, “I knew your relationship with him was strained.”

Beau shrugs, says, “Yeah, it’s been that way since I was fourteen and I walked into a bank just as it was being robbed.”

“Of course you did,” Sidney says, chuckling.

Beau chuckles, too, says, “My dad was furious when I told him I wasn’t going to pursue hockey and that I was joining the military.  He said that it was just me flipping Death the finger and that I’d never make it out of Iraq alive.”

If Sidney hadn’t heard Beau’s father say these same things around him, he would never have believed it.  “I’m sorry,” Sidney says, not quite sure what else to say.

Beau’s lips quirk into a smile before he stands and quietly walks away.

 

-x-

 

 **Mr. Bennett-Crosby (@Sunshine19)** _I just read all of @SidneyCrosbyEgo’s tweets to Sid XD_

> **Sidney Crosby’s Ego (@SidneyCrosbyEgo)** . _@Sunshine19 Thanks, hubby, I always enjoy hearing about my own greatness._

 

 **Mr. Bennett-Crosby (@Sunshine19)** _I keep dropping stuff so I can watch Sid bend over to pick it up #notsorry #perksofmarryingahockeyplayer_

> **Pete (@SukMyFcuknDk)** _Fuck You, @Sunshine19. Ur husband sucks._
> 
> **Mr. Bennett-Crosby (@Sunshine19)** _@SukMyFcuknDk I’ll make sure to get this engraved on a plaque. Should I put it next to Sid’s Olympic golds or above his 2 Art Ross trophies?_

 

-

 

“Beau, why are all my trophies on the kitchen table?”

“…I had to take a picture for the internet.”

 

-

**BuzzFeed Sports (@BuzzFeedSports)** _RT @BuzzFeed_ _16 Reasons Why Sidney Crosby’s Husband is Actually the Best Thing to Happen to Hockey Twitter._

 

-

 

 **Frontline (@frontlinepbs)** _We are so pleased to announce that “Walking Wounded” has been nominated for an Academy Award!_

>   **Penguins (@penguins)** _Congratulations! RT @frontlinepbs We are so pleased to announce that “Walking Wounded” has been nominated for an Academy Award!_

 

-x-

 

“I’d rather give my seat to someone else,” Beau says on the phone, talking to one of the producers.  “I’m in the spotlight too much here in Pittsburgh.”

“I understand,” the producer says.  “Thank you again for your time.”

“Of course,” Beau says, smiling as he hangs up.

 

-

 

“Are going to have a watch party?” Flower asks Beau.

Beau looks over to Sidney and asks, “What do you think?”

“I don’t mind,” Sidney answers.  “We don’t have a game that night.”

 

-x-

 

 **Mr. Bennett-Crosby (@Sunshine19)** _Sid and I have a few of the guys over for an Academy Award watch party! Best of luck, @frontlinepbs! instagram.com/p/9znbsdJSL/_

 

 **Pens Inside Scoop (@PensInsideScoop)** _“Walking Wounded” wins! “Walking Wounded” wins!_

> **Penguins (@penguins)** _RT_ _@PensInsideScoop “Walking Wounded” wins! “Walking Wounded” wins!_

 

-x-

 

“Beau?” Sidney asks, looking over touching Beau’s arm when Beau’s laughter stops abruptly.

Beau looks up, his eyes wide, “My dad’s calling.”

“Are you going to answer it?” Sidney asks, looking down at Beau’s phone – the screen is lit up, the red and green buttons looking deceptively normal.

Beau nods, looks back down at his phone.  He hesitates, but then he taps the green button and puts his phone up to his ear, says, “Hey, dad.”

 

-z-

 

End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \--Warning: the choking incident from the last chapter is brought back again in this one – but is described more in depth. A good Marine friend of mine has a reoccurring nightmare similar to this one and he really has woken up choking his wife. 
> 
> This whole story has sort of become a way for me to work through my own shit and to raise awareness of PTSD. Because PTSD’s not just the occasional half-flashback (oh, hey, I remember this bad thing) – it can be a whole removal of your mind where you vividly relive a memory; you smell, hear, and feel things that aren’t really happening to you. Of course, there are varying degrees of PTSD that a person can go through. It’s not _just_ one thing. And it’s not _all_ the time.
> 
> \--Here are two articles I read for the PTSD stats: [x](http://articles.latimes.com/2013/dec/20/science/la-sci-sn-veteran-suicide-statistics-20131219) and [x](http://www.whiteoutpress.com/articles/2015/q2/22-veteran-suicides-day-actually-35-day/).
> 
> \--The reason this is staying marked as complete, is because I have no idea if I'll be continuing it or not. My mind is sporadic and I'm afraid of commitment.


	4. Slice of Life: Five 4th of Julys

-z-

 

Their first 4th, as soon as the sun sets, Beau sneaks away and puts his hands to his ears.

 

-x-

 

On their second 4th, Beau grits his teeth as the sharp whistling sound cuts through the air and he grins as the sky is painted a myriad of colors and he pretends he isn’t panicking, isn’t falling apart inside.

 

-x-

 

On their third 4th, Beau puts his head to Sidney’s chest and screams so he doesn’t hear the sounds outside – raucous laughter and whoops and the hiss of RPGs and mortars that never seem to hit the right target.

“I’ve got you,” Sidney says against his hair, his voice desperate and so, so far away.  “I’m right here, Beau, you’re safe.  I swear, you’re safe.”

 

-x-

 

For their fourth 4th, they’re in Canada.  Beau still grills and decorates the house in American flags, wears an apron that says: _I have not yet begun to cook!_

And when the sun goes down – there’s nothing screaming into the sky, no bursts of colors, and no explosions.

 

-x-

 

On their fifth 4th, Beau – running his fingers through Sidney’s hair – smiles bright and wide, their faces painted white then purple then green.

“I love you,” Sidney says, loud enough to be heard through Beau’s ear plugs.

“I love you, too,” Beau says, shifting so the Stanley Cup wasn’t digging into his back anymore.

 

-z-

 

End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "I have not yet begun to cook!" is a parody of the John Paul Jones quote: "I have not yet begun to fight!" A much beloved Navy motto.


	5. In The Time Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beau jerks awake on his couch – the sounds of explosions fade into an incessant banging on his front door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have so many feelings.

-z-

 

Beau jerks awake on his couch – the sounds of explosions fade into an incessant banging on his front door.

“Police, open up!”

He must have been screaming again.

 

-x-

 

The numbness has settled down deep in his bones.  It’s a feeling he’s long since gotten used to during his waking hours.  (Only when he’s in an alcohol-induced sleep does he feel anything – and then it’s only _terror_ and _pain_ and _paranoia_.)

Beau stares down at his phone.

 _Jack is gone_.

Beau doesn’t throw his phone, doesn’t rage.  He simply texts back: _When is the funeral?_   Then he sets his phone down and gets up and makes himself another drink.

 

-

 

In his dress blues, Beau slowly lowers his salute as he hands Jack’s mother a folded up flag.

 

-

 

“To Jack,” Cody says.  “He was the best of us.”

Beau says, “To Jack,” and he slams that first drink back – and then three more.

At the end of the night, he ignores the way Cody hangs on him and says, “Doc, if any of us survive the year – it’ll be you.”

He doesn’t have the heart to tell Cody that he has no plans to do such a thing.

 

-x-

 

“Suicide hotline, if you are a veteran in immediate need—”

Beau yanks the phone away from his ear and slams his thumb down on the red button, sobbing.

 

-

 

“Police!  Beau, it’s us, open up!”

 

-

 

“When are you going to come home, son?” Beau’s mother asks.

And because he can never lie to her, Beau says, “I don’t know.”  Then he makes his excuses and ends the call.

 

-x-

 

Beau gets a full five hours of sleep and calls it a good night.

 

-

 

_Pittsburgh Penguins to host game with veterans!_

Beau’s almost drunk enough to delete the email.  Instead, he ignores it as he tosses his phone away from himself and pretends he’s ignoring texts from Cody.

 

-

 

In the morning, hung over and tired and feeling brave, Beau signs up for the game.  He doesn’t expect any response.

 

-

 

“I’m fine, mom,” Beau says, only half watching the hockey game on the television (neither team was the Penguins, so he wasn’t invested).  “Pittsburgh’s been good to me.”

“But—” she doesn’t finish her sentence.

Beau knows she wants him back out in California – back where the water and sunshine is, back where his old friends are.  He doesn’t have the heart to tell her it’s all of those things that were keeping him away.

“The VA’s got a good therapist out here that I’ve been seeing,” Beau says.  It’s not entirely a lie – there is a good therapist out here; but she’s neither sponsored by the VA nor has Beau been able to summon the courage to call her.

“Okay,” his mom says.

Sometimes Beau wishes she would call him out on his bullshit, but she never does and they both continue pretending that everything is fine.  Beau asks after his siblings and his father and after he hears that everything is fine – he makes his excuses.

 

-x-

 

 _Cody is gone_.

Beau cries this time.

 

-

 

Beau slowly lowers his salute as he hands Cody’s son a folded up flag.

 

-

 

This time, there’s no one to go out drinking with.

 

-x-

 

Beau is staring too hard at his gun when he gets the email: _You have been selected to play with the Penguins!_

“Fuck it,” Beau says, taking a swig of his beer.  He stands, swaying just the slightest, and says, “Fine.”

 

-

 

His arm aches and he pretends he doesn’t see the wall being blown out from behind him as he walks into CONSOL.  The organizers of the event tell him the do’s and don’ts of talking with Crosby and Malkin and Letang and all the others who may or may not show up.

Beau listens carefully as he flexes his arm, pretending that the cold of the arena doesn’t bother him.

 

-

 

Three days later, Beau is staring into Sidney Crosby’s eyes over the faceoff dot and Beau finally _feels_ something like hope for the first time since he’s been back on American soil.

 

-z-

 

End.


End file.
